Decode
by methmadekai
Summary: People died around her, and she couldn't help but feel like the pack would have a better chance if she stayed away for a while. Except trying to escape them was pointless in this hellish town; this would only work if she left Beacon Hills entirely. And as she took note of the shattered TV that lay on her floor, she realized leaving was her best option.


**A/N: **As you know, or maybe you don't, this was uploaded like months ago and I'm just now getting around to updating and fixing it up because I desperately want to start rewriting my series because I miss them dearly. So, this is the cleaned up version of Decode. Thank you so much for the feedback!

{ decode }

She couldn't help but feel the anger and jealousy that seemed to be flowing through her body more and more these days. She could lie to _him_ as easily as breathing but she would never be able to lie to herself, at least not for long. The truth would always come crashing in, usually at the worst possible moment, after she'd convinced herself she was in control. She had no doubts that what she was feeling now, however, had to do with the lovey couple that seemed to be taking their sweet time getting to class. The jealousy was pushed aside by the ever-present anger at the sight of their intertwined hands. It was only acceptable that he'd leave her when she needed him most. As she took a deep breath and turned to move towards the exit, she came to a conclusion that shouldn't have surprised her nearly as much as it did. Lydia Martin was jealous of Stiles and Malia.

/

Lydia had been pacing in her room for hours, having left school directly after first period. She knew she wasn't being rational; it was just a relationship. It wasn't as if she had ever dated Stiles, let alone had feelings for him. She shook her head and attempted to clear her thoughts but it was to no avail; all she could think about was how much she hated that goddamn were-coyote. Of course, she had no reason to hate her, other than the fact that Malia would've gladly left her for dead back in Mexico. She wanted to push away the feeling, make it seem like it was all just a figment of her imagination. It wasn't just her imagination, though, and she knew it. She _knew_ she was jealous, though she also knew she had no reason to feel that way.

She didn't have feelings for Stiles; he was just a good friend, which by itself had been an upgrade in their relationship status. That still didn't explain why she was jealous of his relationship with the were-bitch, Malia. She guessed she was feeling more anger than anything, though that was definitely reasonable, considering the circumstances. It hadn't been that long since her best friend's death and the minute she needed the two guys who had somehow pulled her into all the supernatural madness, they went off and got girlfriends. She didn't blame Scott for trying to move on, though. Allison had been his first love and if Kira was what he needed to move on and be happy, then that was perfectly okay. What wasn't okay was Stiles completely blowing her off the second he got into a relationship with Malia. Lydia had tried to reach out to him multiple times, but he'd blown her off every time, claiming he was helping his were-bitch of a girlfriend study. Living in the woods for more than half your life would definitely take a toll on your intelligence level but she could at least get some damn manners.

Lydia had been so focused on the war going on in her head that she hadn't realized she had been moving. She looked around in surprise as she realized she wasn't in her room but was instead traipsing around in the cemetery. She had a feeling it hadn't been her weird, banshee powers that brought her here; no, it had been her subconscious. Just thinking about Allison must've somehow triggered something in her head, and well, here she was.

She had been here enough in the past two months to know exactly where Allison's grave lay and just like always, the second she caught sight of the headstone she burst into tears. Allison was supposed to be alive; the thought of her best friend rotting in a grave made her lose it every single time. She knew Scott had been here nearly as much as she had, crying over his grief. Stiles had been here only a few times due to the overwhelming guilt he felt and after the third visit, he claimed he couldn't take it anymore. Lydia, on the other hand, had visited her best friend every day, whether it had been in the early morning or the late night.

"I saw you leave earlier," A voice jarred her out of her thoughts. She wasn't sure who she had been expecting but she was surprised to see an unfamiliar face greeting her with a small smile. She had absolutely no idea who this kid was and with all the supernatural shit that Beacon Hills had to offer, she definitely was suspicious.

"So you followed me here?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. What the hell?

The boy grimaced, immediately realizing how horrible that had come out. "Not exactly. Look, I don't want to hurt you," He held his hands up in surrender.

Lydia rolled her eyes, not believing a word; she'd lived in beacon Hills for far too long to be taken for a fool. "You're lying."

He merely shrugged before allowing his eyes to glow orange. Before she could make a move or say anything, he disappeared into the woods leaving a very alarmed Lydia hovering over her best friend's grave. She didn't waste time in dialing the number of the only reliable friend she had anymore before she took off in the direction of her house. Scott picked up on the third ring, sounding breathless and Lydia mentally groaned not needing confirmation to acknowledge that her train of thought was correct. He had been with Kira.

"Hey, what's up?" He asked, ever so casual. She quickly explained the strange encounter with that _thing_ in the cemetery to him and he made a noise that she recognized as confusion.

"Are you sure they were orange?" He asked hesitantly. The last thing he wanted to do was patronize Lydia, but someone with orange eyes? Not yellow, not red, not blue, but orange? _That _was new. He was quickly finding out that there was a lot more than just werewolves in Beacon Hills, however.

"Yes, Scott, I'm positive. Can you just get here, please?" She nearly begged, reaching her porch. She pulled the door open and ran inside, locking herself in her room.

"You locked the doors, right?" Scott asked, the sound of his motorcycle engine starting up bouncing back into Lydia's ear.

"I'm not an idiot. Just get here," She responded, ending the call and tossing her phone to the side.

…

Fortunately, it only took Scott about fifteen minutes to reach Lydia's house. He used his senses to sniff around the perimeter or the house, though he didn't catch a scent of anything. He guessed it hadn't followed Lydia and for that, he was thankful. After peeking out the windows tentatively, Lydia flew down the stairs and threw the door open. Scott's face adorned nothing but confusion as he made his way inside, and she could've sworn he looked almost wary of her. Under normal circumstances, she would've understood and maybe even accepted the look, but today was _so _not the day. The anger at having been ignored for so long by the only two people she really trusted was beginning to boil up and she was ready to peel her lips back and rip him a new one, but then he was outside again, leaving Lydia angrier than ever.

As it turned out, Scott had called Stiles to inform him of the problem, and that would've been perfectly alright if not a bit annoying if he wouldn't have brought both Malia and Kira with. _She's his girlfriend,_ Lydia mentally reminded herself getting more and more aggravated. Kira was one thing, but the were-bitch was an entirely different situation, a situation that Lydia was sure as hell in no mood to deal with.

"What happened?" Stiles questioned, sprinting inside with the others right behind him. Malia immediately fell against the couch and lounged as though she owned the place, and god damn Lydia hated herself for hating the were-coyote so much.

Lydia began to recite what had happened, her eyes flickering back and forth between Kira and Stiles. "And that's when I called Scott," She finished, shrugging.

Stiles seemed to involuntarily flinch as though he was actually hurt she had called Scott instead of him, which was truly ironic considering the large role he had played in her life since Allison's death. Ever since he'd met the were-coyote, it was _always _about Malia, always about helping Malia or studying with Malia or going out to eat with Malia. When did Stiles ever even try to communicate with Lydia anymore? She could count the number of times they'd talked in the past month on one hand, and that made her angrier than ever. _You're hurt_, a voice in the back of her mind told her, but she shoved it aside because anger was so much easier to handle than hurt.

"Orange eyes? Are you absolutely positive they were orange?" Stiles made a face and titled his head to the side, looking a mix between confused and disbelieving.

"Yes, orange," Lydia annunciated slowly. "Why do you all keep asking me that?"

She was met with silence, and she felt her temper flare up. "Do you all wanna stop treating me like I'm insane? Because that would be greatly appreciated. It's not like you guys haven't ever come to me with the same types of problems."

"We don't think you're insane-," Kira started, but Lydia held up a hand.

"You know what? It doesn't even matter," Lydia stated, resolve in her tone. She took a step back and held out her hands in surrender, refusing to believe that she was being treated like a fragile piece of glass. Everyone was walking on eggshells around her, and that wa the absolute last thing she had ever wanted. She _wasn't _crazy, she wasn't.

"I was just making sure I heard you correctly," Stiles said slowly, ready to take a step forward but thinking better of it at the last second. "Why'd you leave school early?" He was grasping for a way to change the conversation, to mend things, but Lydia wasn't willing to take the bait.

Lydia's eyes shot over to meet his and she swore she could've heard Malia huff in boredom.

"Because I had no reason to stay," She shrugged, looking away. It wasn't as if she wanted to stick around and watch the lovely new couple prance around while she was left in the dark. "I just needed some air."

Stiles tilted his head to the side, looking remarkably like a lost puppy, unsure of what his next move should be. He was still dancing on eggshells, still hesitant to say what was on his mind because it couldn't be true. But it made sense. "Lydia, are you jealous?"

Clearly, that had been the wrong thing to say. Lydia's face turned bright red in anger, and she pointed at the door. "Leave. _Now._" But her voice was shaky, and they all could tell she was holding back on verbally assaulting Stiles for suggesting such a thing. Because that was ridiculous, right?

"Chill out," Malia piped up from her spot on the couch, her irritation visible through her facial features. "Why are you so mad?" She glanced back at Stiles to make sure she had gotten the emotion right, but he wasn't paying any attention to her.

Lydia dragged her hand across her face and pointed to the door again. "Just leave. _Please._"

Stiles watched her for a moment before reluctantly nodding his head and grabbing at Malia's hand. "C'mon Malia, let's go."

Malia began to protest but the look Stiles shot her seemed to shut her up completely and together the two left the household. Kira sympathetically rested her hand on Lydia's arm and shook her head. "Call me if you need anything." She didn't wait for a response and followed after the other two.

Lydia refused to make eye contact with Scott because he would understand; he would immediately realize what was happening, would be able to feel the pain she'd been feeling for weeks now. She turned her head to the side and after a sigh could be heard, she knew that Scott had exited as well, shutting the door behind him.

Emotions seemed to be heightened, and in that moment Lydia felt like her entire world was going dim. A light above her exploded, leaving her to sit in darkness and wonder what exactly her life had come to since Allison's death. And then she was crying, crying harder than she ever had and vases across the room were flying into the wall, glass shards everywhere and anywhere. Her heart was pounding loudly in her ears and all she could feel was the pain that seemed to consume her these days. The gaping hole that Allison had left in her heart had destroyed who she was, and she knew she'd never be the same. Stiles had Malia, and Scott had Kira, but who did that leave Lydia with? Nobody, absolutely nobody because letting another person in would be homicide. People died around her; she caused it, she was the banshee. What good were her powers if she couldn't even save a life?

In the midst of her breakdown, she hadn't realized that the front door had been opened again, hadn't seen the worry in Stiles's eyes as he instinctively moved towards her. But as the emotional warpath in her mind continued to build up, it seemed as though the world around her was being destroyed. She couldn't distinguish light from dark, and she could hear the glass crunch underneath Stiles's shoes as he knelt beside her.

"Lydia, look at me."

He was talking, and she could hear him, but it was faded; everything was faded. She was having a panic attack, couldn't find the air to breathe in, could only see the objects that continued to smash into the walls because of her doing, and that simple observation only made things worse. The TV that had been screwed into the wall was wobbling dangerously, and Lydia knew she had to stop, knew she had to breathe, had to calm down. And then hands were wrapped around her cheeks, forcing her to turn her head, and she found she was looking into Stiles's eyes. He was saying something, maybe even yelling over the wind in the house, but she wasn't listening, couldn't hear a word.

But then in a moment of panic, he pressed his lips to hers and the objects in the air dropped to the ground. She sucked in a breath of air as soon as they parted, though his hands remained firmly against her cheeks. He watched her for a moment before sighing and falling back against the floor, careful not to sit on a shard of glass.

"Jesus Christ, Lyds," He was breathing heavily, and she could only stare at the floor because she was still crying, and the wind was still blowing around them both. It was only Malia's voice that broke her out of her reverie.

"Are you okay?" Malia asked tentatively as she tiptoed around the broken glass scattered across the floor. She took a look around the destroyed room and made a face. "Maybe you should get checked out for anger issues."

It wasn't the words, but the innocent tone of voice that had Lydia standing up in anger. Stiles stood between the two, wary of the wobbling objects scattered across the floor, looking as though they were about to start flying again.

"Malia, let's go," Stiles suggested rather forcefully, yanking at Malia's arm firmly. Malia stood her ground, though, and kept her feet planted firmly to the floor.

"What?" She asked innocently with a shrug. She didn't seem to understand the line she had just crossed, and had it been anyone else, Lydia _might _have been more willing to just let it go. But this was Malia, and unfair or not, she absolutely hated the were-coyote. Stiles grabbed Malia and forced her to the floor as a vase went flying directly where her head had just been.

Lydia wasn't aware of what she was doing anymore, and she was barely aware of Scott and Kira as they reentered the room. She tried to regain her control, but god damn, it had completely disappeared. She wasn't in control of her emotions as the objects began to whir around the room again, shards of glass nearly impaling Scott as he pulled Kira to the floor. The house was shaking, and Lydia could feel it, but there wasn't anything she could do because even if she wanted to stop, she wouldn't be able to.

She pressed her hands against her ears to stop the whispers, to stop the demands that told her to kill them all, but it was to no avail because as she sunk to the floor her knees scraping against the glass, the TV went flying off the wall. There was a yelp and as Lydia peeled her eyes open, she sucked in a breath.

Her nice TV that Stiles had so generously bought her for her birthday had nearly taken off Malia's head, and as if that wasn't bad enough, she realized immediately that it had knocked Stiles unconscious. The wind died out and the objects fell to the ground as Lydia held a hand to her mouth and took in the mess that _she _had just created around herself. Scott was by Stiles's side in seconds, and as hard as she tried, she couldn't make herself move. Because this was her fault. Stiles was bloody and unconscious because she hadn't been able to conceal her emotions.

Malia growled at her as she took a step closer, an obvious indication that she wanted nothing to do with Lydia in that moment and was probably dying to sink her claws into her. Scott had his fingers pressed against Stiles's throat, looking for a pulse and as soon as he had located it, he huffed a sigh of relief.

"He's okay," Scott didn't allow himself the luxury of being relieved though because Stiles had been hit _hard, _and they needed to get him to the hospital _now. _Words weren't spoken as Scott gathered his best friend in his arms and hauled him outside into the jeep. Malia waited until both Kira and Scott had fled to the vehicle before she wrapped her hand tightly around Lydia's wrist.

"If you follow us to the hospital, I'll kill you without hesitation," She warned, her claws leaving marks in Lydia's skin. And then Malia was gone and Lydia was left behind, denial as present as ever. Trying to clean would be pointless, and Lydia had no intentions of staying behind to do it. She wasn't going to follow the pack to the hospital, though, because who knew who else she could hurt while she was there? All she was capable of doing was hurting people, it seemed. People died around her, and she couldn't help but feel like the pack would have a better chance if she stayed away for a while. Except trying to escape them was pointless in this hellish town; this would only work if she left Beacon Hills entirely. And as she took note of the shattered TV that lay on her floor, she realized leaving was her best option.

Packing a bag was her next step, and she found that choosing an appropriate run-away outfit wasn't all that hard. She found an old hoodie of Jackson's and threw it over her battered tank top and exchanged her jeans for a pair of black leggings before she flew down the stairs only to be met by the mystery man from the cemetery.

"You," She growled, pointing a finger at him. He arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "Do you even _realize _how many problems your stupid presence just caused?" She wanted to hit him, wanted to _hurt _him, and it wasn't until the thought crossed her mind that she realized how badly she needed to leave this godforsaken town.

"_Who _are you, and why do you keep following me?" She was on the edge, and the last thing she wanted was to hurt another human being but god damn, she'd had a rough day, alright? She was in no mood for games and if the shattered objects around the room weren't indication enough, she wasn't sure what else was. The man looked mildly amused, but didn't seem to care too much about keeping his agenda a secret.

"Look," He started, holding his hands out in surrender, "I'm not here to hurt you. I just need you to listen to me."

She crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. "I am in _no _mood for games, so if this a trick…" She trailed off.

"It's not a trick," He insisted, dropping down into the only chair that hadn't been hit and ripped open by the flying glass. He eyed the mess around him, looking both confused and a little nervous, and Lydia found satisfaction in his expression. "You're not really who you think you are."

And in the end, Lydia really wished she would've been slightly more prepared for what was to come.


End file.
